


The Gap Between Us

by griseldajane



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, mirkwood family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:04:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griseldajane/pseuds/griseldajane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a scourge falls over Mirkwood, a young Legolas reflects on how he and Thranduil grew so far apart.</p><p> Excerpt: <i>Once or twice the king had paused outside his door, but Legolas waited in vain for a knock that would never come.  Why his father stayed his hand, Legolas could only guess.  </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is my first Tolkien story, please bear with me as I learn the ins and outs of Middle-Earth. 
> 
> Elven ages are hard to gauge, but I’d say Legolas has not come of age yet (assuming that is 50 in elven years). He’s about 38, which may be equivalent to a sixteen year old human.

**THE GAP BETWEEN US**  
\-- PART ONE --  
  


*****

  
_Adar is sad..._

The thought came to Legolas unbidden as he listened to his father's rich voice echoing off the cavernous walls of the throne room. There was no reason that Legolas should have thought this suddenly, for his father was as even toned as he ever was, his expression calm yet exacting with no outward cause for alarm.

 _And yet…_ Legolas thought, a frown tugging at his lips.  A dissonant chord thrummed deep in Legolas's chest, drawing his awareness towards Thranduil through the familial bond they shared.

Legolas stood in line with the other members of his patrol, listening patiently for their orders.  There were nine in this scouting patrol, including the leader, but only three others were of junior rank like himself.

Despite being prince of the Woodland Realm, Legolas went without special favor and was not privy to the details of this mission beforehand.  That was all right by him as he would prefer to earn his station himself on his own merits.  He was already excelling in archery, having earned the highest marks and he smiled to himself as he remembered the archery master’s comments, _In a few years, you will be one of our finest._

Though it did make his heart shiver to think that no one would guess he was Thranduil’s son if not for their striking resemblance, white-blond hair and pale eyes.  The Elvenking was as aloof with him as he was with everyone these days.  

 _It wasn’t always so,_ he thought.

The elven hall was carved deep into the ground, its long elegant columns seemed to stretch down like tree roots from the earth ceiling above it, but despite being obscured from daylight, the cavern was brightly lit to mimic the time of day.  

For days now, the king had had an inkling that something was amiss in the easternmost wood, and the disturbance grew within him until it was too large to be ignored.  There was no one more in tune with Mirkwood than its king and if anyone could sense a disturbance from the underground fortress it was Thranduil.  His instructions to the patrol were exact, “You will keep your eyes and ears open for the cause of this disquiet and take no further steps unless action is inescapable,” for he did not want his people to stumble into peril if it was avoidable.

As the king continued to speak, there was a weariness to his words that Legolas alone seemed to hear.  Legolas frowned, stealing furtive glances at his peers, but they did not discern the sorrow of the king.  

 _What grieves you, Ada?_ Legolas thought, startled.   

Thranduil’s voice faded into background as Legolas examined his father.  Calm and poised, his voice steady yet brooking no disobedience, Thranduil was ever their tireless king.  But of all the elves that lived in Middle Earth, Legolas knew his father best, and his eyes no longer sparkled like starlight as Legolas remembered they did.  Thranduil’s proud shoulders now drooped with a burden as heavy as the lonely mountain itself.  

When Legolas thought on it, he realized his father had been a distant figure for some time.  His trouble was not as sudden as it seemed, even though Legolas was just becoming mindful of it now.

For months his father’s gentle footsteps could be heard as he walked the royal halls at night, attempting to outdistance the unrest in his heart.  Once or twice the king had paused outside his door, but Legolas waited in vain for a knock that would never come.  Why his father stayed his hand, Legolas could only guess.  

Though left wanting for his remaining parent, Legolas's young life was not isolated. Immersed in training, his lessons, his princely duties at court, and his patrol missions, Legolas led a busy life, and likewise the position of the king never lapsed and thus Thranduil was always occupied.  While father and son saw each other everyday, it was perfunctory at best and under formal reprimand at worst.

Of course he had noticed a distance forming between them, but had quickly shoved his hurt feelings aside. There had been no time to dwell on his upset and soon Legolas had immersed himself too deeply in his studies to dwell on why his father was becoming reclusive.  Despite keeping busy and having plenty of friends, Legolas had to admit he was lonely, in want of love and affection that only a parent can bestow.

More and more Legolas took his meals with his patrol instead of in the royal dining room.  It seemed an age since father and son had dined together, or had a conversation, or shared an embrace.  No one touched the king now, not even his son.

 _When did that happen?_ he thought.   _I remember running to him and being swept up in his arms. I remember pressing kisses to his cheek. I remember his fingers braiding my hair and his laughter in my ear. I remember his joy and mine._

It had started slowly as these things do, a few steps away meant nothing.  It was natural for fathers and sons to grow apart.  But he and Thranduil had traveled years in opposite directions and those steps had amassed.  

The situation could no longer be ignored.  Legolas sensed in Thranduil a despair so great he wondered how he had been be blind to it until now.

As his patrol moved out, Legolas was jostled from his thoughts and stumbled a step, which was a step enough to draw Thranduil’s attention to him.  His keen gaze focused upon him until Legolas looked away, feeling a slight blush creep up his ears at being caught out of line by the king.  

At once the gap between them yawned wide like the mouth of a chasm, and such a sadness fell over Legolas that he could not bring himself to look up.  

The desire to go to his father was strong, but Legolas saw no way he could possibly approach the king.  Instead, he went out with his patrol into the eastern woods where the disturbance was said to be.

 

  
*****

It seemed that each day Mirkwood grew more and more into its name, the once greenwood now wilting under a yoke of despair.  A thickness to the air made travelers weary of going through. Spiders were becoming more and more aggressive, making their nests and preying upon the animals in Mirkwood.  

The forest in this eastern section was eerily absent of all wildlife, the trees tittering nervously.  Thranduil was right-- the forest was indeed troubled. Legolas did not like it, but he kept this thought to himself as the patrol continued on.  

They came upon a forlorn wagon that had most likely come from Lake Town.  There was a family of men inside, pale and untouched by spiders and other prey, yet dead all the same.

The human folk were huddled together, having died in the embrace of their loved ones.  Legolas could not look away from them, and could not bear to separate the family, and so the bodies were wrapped together in linens the elves found in the wagon.

The patrol returned them to Lake Town, where they were met by guardsmen at the shore, who did not accept the bodies back into the city, but set them adrift on the lake and set fire to the raft they floated on.  

“Keep your distance elven-folk.  There’s illness here,” the guardsmen warned.  They implored the elves to ask the Elvenking to send healers to Lake Town, for their people were sick, their children were dying.  “A plague,” they cautioned.

But elves did not get sick, so the patrol did not take much stock in the guardsmen’s warning, though they promised to bring their plea for aid back with them to the king.

Not quite of age, Legolas suddenly felt very much an elfling, the deaths of these men somehow rankling him, though human death had never bothered him before. _The lives of men are short,_ Legolas reflected.   _It is part of their natural cycle._ And with that thought he realized it was not their deaths that bothered him.

Legolas watched the fire with grim resolve unsure why he felt such a kinship with these mortals he had not known in life.  But he felt he knew them all the same, having seen what they held most dear in their final moments.  It stuck in Legolas's chest like a shard of glass, and he again thought of his father.  

In a moment so dire as his last, would it be Thranduil who reached for him? This thought and his lack of answer clung to him, like a chill that he could not shake.

The patrol hurried back to the Elven Hall and the thought haunted Legolas all the way.  He loved his father as surely as the sun rose every day, but Thranduil retreated from him, becoming more and more a recluse in his underground fortress.

 

******

With his father firmly on his mind, Legolas had decided to visit him as soon as he returned to the stronghold, even if it was late.

The patrol leader reported back to the king.  Because of the urgency of the request from Lake Town, Thranduil would be engaged as soon as the patrol returned.  Legolas did not want to intrude on official business, so he proceeded directly to Thranduil’s private chambers to wait for him there. It was, perhaps, not the best time to confront his father, but Legolas decided that there never would be a good time for this.

After seeing the dead family burn on the waters of Lake Town, Legolas felt a restlessness in his heart that would not settle.   _Men know what is important, even if elves, with their long lives, lose sight of it,_ Legolas thought.  

The time had come for him to approach his father.  He did not know what he would say, what words would reach him, only that he needed to hinder this burgeoning gap between them before it grew too vast.

Legolas hurried up the many steps to the royal family’s quarters, and felt suddenly hot. When he reached the door to his father's chambers everything swam.

 _How odd,_ he thought as a flush crept up his neck and up through his face.  He pressed a hand to his forehead and thought it peculiar that this hand was so cold, or that his face was so warm.

Everything tipped, and Legolas was suddenly lying on the floor, his thoughts running slow. He knew he needed to stand up, but the command was lost somewhere between thought and action.  He felt uncomfortably hot and the tiles were cool against his prone body.  But these thoughts got stuck too and all he could think about was the weary slump of his father’s shoulders.

 _I should go to him,_ he thought.   _I should get up._

There was a flutter of robes and then the king was peering over him, his long hair cascading around his shoulder in an elegant sweep.

"Legolas?," he asked. “Why are you lying on the floor?”

"Adar," he replied, his voice sounding funny to his own ears. "I cannot get up."

Thranduil's brow creased, his eyes flashing. "What do you mean? Are you hurt?"

Before he could answer, Thranduil knelt and slid his arms under Legolas's head and shoulders and helped him sit up. Legolas dizzied, his head lolling against Thranduil's chest.  He hadn't been held by his father like this since he was an elfling.  Legolas smiled a little, letting himself lean into his father’s embrace, feeling comforted as he used to be by him.

Thranduil brought his forehead to Legolas's brow, his skin feeling pleasantly cool to Legolas. "You are feverish," Thranduil said. "Your hands are cold. You are... _sick_."

"No, I'm just... tired. Elves don't get sick," Legolas argued. That was right, wasn’t it?

"It is rare," Thranduil said. " It is _very_ rare… but it can happen."

"I just need to stand up," Legolas said, pushing weakly against his father for support.

Thranduil got him to his feet, but on coltish legs he couldn’t balance, and he pitched forward.

In one swift motion, Thranduil hefted Legolas up into his arms, shouting for the guard, his voice no longer calm.

Legolas must have passed out for a moment because he was suddenly in his father's bedchamber, laid out upon the sheets of his bed.

"Lie still," Thranduil commanded when Legolas fidgeted, placing a hand on his forehead to soothe him.  

A healer was there frowning over him.  She said something to Thranduil, but Legolas did not hear it.

Legolas thought, _We just sent half of our healers to Lake Town_ , and chuckled at his misfortune before darkness overtook him.

_To be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The title is borrowed from a Tim Rice lyric. 
> 
> If you are interested, sometimes I post gen Thranduil and Legolas art over on [my tumblr](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/) under the tag “Mirkwood Family”. 
> 
> Comments are cherished! :) Thanks everybody.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even through the fog of illness, Legolas noticed that there were lines pulling at his father’s eyes, purple bruises of fatigue and worry underneath them. This outburst of temper alone revealed how frayed Thranduil’s nerves were for he would never lose his composure over so simple a question was he not pushed to the very end of his tether.

**THE GAP BETWEEN US**

\-- PART TWO --

 

Legolas woke some time later, blinking bleary-eyed and confused. The light was different than he last remembered-- bright, mid-morning sun now filtered in overhead.

 

_I must have slept through the night_ , Legolas thought. The windowed ceiling he was staring at was not his and he realized he was still in his father's room.

 

"Ada?" Legolas asked, his voice raspy and foreign to his own ears. The single word scorched a path of fire down his throat, hurting so deeply that his ears ached. He tried to sit up, but could not, his body trembling and weak like a newborn foal.

 

Suddenly Thranduil was there, moving as abruptly as a startled stag in the woods.  Dressed in a simple black tunic and pants, he sat on the edge of the bed and smiled faintly at him.  

 

Legolas had not seen him without his kingly attire in so long that he stared at length at his father, prompting Thranduil to ask with a troubled expression, “How are you feeling, iôn-nín? Are you in terrible pain?”

 

“I feel strange-- hot and cold at once,” Legolas whispered.  “I am too weak to move.  My throat hurts.”

 

“You are sick for the first time,” Thranduil said.  “Most elves never experience it all.  I know you have questions, but you must drink this first.”

 

Thranduil slid closer, slipping one hand behind Legolas's head, helping him to sit up, while the other hand brought a cup to his lips. With nothing but his father's strength keeping him upright, Legolas felt as if his body had no bones to support him.

 

Thranduil's hand was wonderfully cool against Legolas's skin, his actions imbibed with a gentleness that was uncommon of the king, but what Legolas remembered of his father from his childhood.

 

Legolas took a tentative sip, grimacing against the pain this small action caused in his throat.

 

“More, my heart,” Thranduil said.  “You must drink it all.”

 

The liquid tasted vile, but it eventually soothed his aching throat. Thranduil followed this with a glass of water. Everything felt hot and his mind was slow, but still Legolas must ask, “What happened?”

 

Thranduil carefully lowered Legolas back against the pillows, taking a moment to smooth his hair away from his sweaty face.

 

“There is an outbreak of fever in the forest,” Thranduil said.  “Everyone in your patrol came back unknowingly infected.”

 

“How?” Elves were supposed to be immune to sickness and Legolas could not fathom that he would suddenly catch a mortal disease when he had been exposed to them his whole life and had never fallen ill once.

 

“I do not know, iôn-nín,” Thranduil confessed.  “It is unnatural. There is darkness at play here, that is all I can sense.”

 

“I am glad you are here, Adar,” Legolas said slowly, “but where are your attendants? Does the king not have greater responsibilities right now than to play nursemaid at my bedside?”

 

“There is nothing more important to the king than his son!” Thranduil snapped, outrage making his eyes flash.  

 

Even through the fog of illness, Legolas noticed that there were lines pulling at his father’s eyes, purple bruises of fatigue and worry underneath them.  This outburst of temper alone revealed how frayed Thranduil’s nerves were for he would never lose his composure over so simple a question was he not pushed to the very end of his tether.

 

"I mean no offense," Legolas whispered, feeling that familiar distance drive Thranduil away from him. "Truly, I am glad for your presence by my side."

 

Thranduil smoothed his hands along the sheets as if he could make neat his emotions as he could the bedding. The king forced out a breath, steadying himself, and Legolas felt his father draw nearer.  

 

"I have sent everyone who is not sick away,” Thranduil explained.

 

"Away?” Legolas asked.

 

“Yes,” Thranduil replied.  “The fever is highly contagious and has spread like wildfire through the kingdom.  I have ordered that everyone take extra care and that those who are sick and tending to the sick must be quarantined.  I am no exception. Our healers are spread thin between our halls and Lake Town. I have sent a messenger to Rivendell to request more healers, but in the mean time you will have to make due with me.”

 

_Quarantined..._ Legolas thought.  That is why Legolas was still in his father’s rooms, why Thranduil wore plain clothes that would most likely be burned later.  Legolas blinked up at his father who attended him, and realized this meant Thranduil was exposed to the disease too.

 

“But Adar, will you not get sick too?” Legolas asked alarmed.  If Thranduil was confined to this room with Legolas, then his risk of infection was greater than most. The kingdom would be at its most vulnerable, if Thranduil fell ill.

 

“No, I do not think so.  As yet the fever seems to latch on to the young-- those with fewer than ten centuries, and I am quite ancient,” Thranduil said with a hint of a smile.  

 

Sometimes Legolas forgot how very old his father was and the many things he had endured in his long life.  Having only thirty-eight years made living thousands near impossible to imagine.    

 

“Spare your concern, Legolas.  If I were to catch this illness, then I would have done so by now,” Thranduil insisted, “and if I do, it is unlikely it will be life threatening for me.”

 

“Life threatening?”  Legolas asked, his eyes widening in surprise.  

 

“Yes… The danger for you has not quite passed.” Though he spoke with nonchalance, Thranduil looked away from Legolas and this belied his words.  “This is the most coherent conversation we have held in four days, so I am hopeful, the tide will turn in your favor.”

 

“Four days! I have no memory of that,” Legolas exclaimed, and then processed the rest of what Thranduil said.  “Have others died?”

 

“Yes,” Thranduil said, his voice hesitating before adding, “Two have died from your patrol.”

 

It was a lot to process at once.  Legolas wanted to ask, _Who has died?_ and _When did they pass?_ but the words do not make it past his sick-addled mind.  

 

Overwhelmed, he blinked back tears.  He had no wish to cry, neither in front of the king nor his father.  It was no wonder his father looked so haggard, his people were dying from a strange illness that his own son had also contracted.  

 

Suddenly exhausted, Legolas let his eyes fall shut.  Thranduil did not say anything more, but he gripped Legolas's hand and did not let go.   

 

_Adar is holding my hand…_ Legolas pondered that as the sickness robbed him of cognizance.

 

*****

 

Another day passed and the fever had not burned out yet.  Thranduil was as calm as ever by his bedside, but Legolas felt his gaze heavy on him, knew his father was worried.  His skin hurt, his clothing and the bed sheets scraping against his flesh like knives, and Legolas’s coherence came and went.   

 

He was sweating, he could feel the fever burning him from the inside out, but he knew he must talk to Thranduil now while he was still coherent.  His hope was faltering that there would be better time.

 

"I miss you," Legolas said, unprompted.

 

Thranduil looked up from his text startled by the soft words and frowned, not understanding.  “I’m here,” he said, moving closer to the bed.

 

If Legolas was to burn, he wanted to be in his father’s embrace, like the men on the waters of Lake Town had been in the arms of their loved ones when they faced the fire.  

 

"Everyday, I am in arms reach of you, and you of me, and yet no touch passes between us,” Legolas said softly. “I do not speak with you outside the audience of the king and yet there are many things I would say to my Adar, council I would seek of him..."

 

Legolas paused, his heart suddenly pounding. _Have courage,_ he thought, _This could be your last chance…_

 

"I sense a sadness in you, but I do not know what caused it.  Why do you pull away from me?" Legolas asked. "What did I do, Adar, to displease you so?"

 

Thranduil did not say anything, but emotions warred across his face.  Struggling to stay composed, Thranduil finally said, "How I have wronged you, iôn-nín.”  He paused, looking away to collect himself.  “I know I am not... demonstrative," Thranduil confessed.

 

"I remember when you were," Legolas whispered. "What happened Ada?"

 

Pain creased his father’s face and upon seeing this remorse at his words flooded him.   _Naneth_ , Legolas thought, and remembered her for a moment, her softness, her gentle voice.  His mother had been gone thirty years now, having died when Legolas was still toddling.  She was now just a lovely memory, glittering with sunlight and warmth and pure love.  

 

Thranduil would not speak of her for the wound of her passing was still open on his soul. _It will never heal_ , Legolas thought. _He will never be over her loss._

 

Thranduil said, "I am selfish at times, Legolas. Accustomed to getting my own way, a hazard of the occupation of the king." A mirthless smile quirked his lips.  

 

But even now Legolas saw how he was protecting her, would not use his wife's death as an excuse for his distance, even though it was partly the reason for it. Legolas had been too young to understand or see past his own grief, but now he wondered if Thranduil's heart would recover or if it had died long ago with her.

 

"You grew so very fast," he said with a gentle smile. "All fathers hope that youth will linger in their children.  It was easier to shield you when you were small.  If I hold you at arm's length now it is because I seek to protect you... from me."

 

Legolas frowned, shaking his head against the pillow in denial. "You could not harm me," he replied.

 

“If only that were so,” Thranduil said.  “I have seen much in my long life, Legolas.  It wears on me, iôn-nín.  There is great evil in this world-- a darkness that withers this forest and hunts our kith and kin… At times it feels too great-- far too great to bear,” Thranduil admitted, shaking his head in despair.

 

Hearing these words coming from his father’s lips frightened him, but Legolas gathered his nerve and did not look away.  Though frail with fever, he reached for Thranduil’s arm, clasping a weak hand around his wrist.  Never had his father spoken such words of hopelessness, at least not to him, and Legolas did not like it.  

 

Thranduil was a pillar of unwavering strength-- that _he_ could have moments of fear and doubt, shook Legolas.  It was unfair, perhaps, to demand nothing less than perfection from him, but it was what Legolas had come to expect of his father.  Thranduil suffered and Legolas had not noticed until now-- had it always been this way? Or had it worsened over time?  Perhaps both, but in either case it did not matter because now that Legolas knew he was determined to help him.

 

Wanting desperately to go to him, to pull his father into an embrace and hold on tight, Legolas silently cursed at his debilitated body that would not rise to his command.  The most he could do was move his thumb over the bones in Thranduil’s wrist.   

 

“Everyday the burden grows heavier, and at times this despair overwhelms me… I am not fit to be around in those dark moments,” Thranduil whispered.  He looked into Legolas's eyes and said, “I would cut out my own heart before I let this darkness spread to you, Legolas.  I would rather see you grow unfettered and strong from a distance, than let my hold on you drag you down. I do not want you to see what I have seen, or feel this evil claw at your fëa.”

 

Legolas stared at his father in silence, uncertain he could be understanding correctly.   _Adar is afraid for me as if the horrors he has faced could spread to me the way this fever has._

 

Legolas thought about the losses in Thranduil's life-- his own father cut down in battle, two thirds of his people slain, the burdens of the crown suddenly thrust on his young shoulders, his beloved wife taken years too soon, and he thought that his father was an elf who had endured much. With no family to look to, no wife to help raise his son, Thranduil was alone. He was a king who must not appear vulnerable to his people as he reigned over a dying kingdom.

 

_He bears much alone_ , Legolas thought.   _For our people-- for me-- he has quarantined himself._

 

“No, Adar,” Legolas said at last, and he must say it again for how strongly he feels.  “No-- I would have you, darkness and all.  I am not afraid.”

 

“You should be,” Thranduil whispered.  “It is not your responsibility to support me, Legolas.”

 

“Of course it is!” Legolas shouted, his voice finding enough resolve to raise.  “If not you, then no one.  You are my family.  There is no one else I would put before you.  Would you not say the same of me?”

 

At his words, Thranduil brought Legolas’s hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss against his knuckles, and replied, “I would say exactly the same.”  

 

A blush of happiness rose within Legolas, and though it made his fever burn hotter, he chased after the feeling.  

 

Thranduil breathed a heavy sigh and said, “Despite my intent to keep you unscathed, I have wounded you nonetheless, my little leafling, and for _that_ I am deeply ashamed.”

 

_“Ada,”_ Legolas chides with impatience.  “You demand much, but you are never as demanding of anyone as you are of yourself.  I am no elfling. I would not so easily break.”

 

With his advisors Thranduil could speak of kingly responsibility, but he would never make himself vulnerable.  Thranduil was peerless.  He had no confidant to share the burdens of his heart. A stubborn and proud elf, Thranduil found it difficult to ask for help or admit to weakness.

 

Legolas would gladly take up his burdens, if only Thranduil would allow him the chance.  “From henceforth, I would have your confidence, Ada, as you have mine.”

 

"I regret if I made you feel otherwise, but you _must_ know, Legolas," Thranduil said his voice rising. " _You_ are my greatest treasure. No one has brought me more pride and more joy than you have, and none ever will."

 

Legolas smiled, or he tried to. Another flash of heat struck him, and his resolve began to dwindle. "I love you too, Ada," he whispered.  

 

The room was starting to spin and his dizziness must have shown on his face for Thranduil leaned closer, a cool hand gently sweeping across his forehead and down the side of his face.

 

"You are my heart," Thranduil continued. "If something were to happen to you, I would cease to be."

 

_"Ada,_ you mustn’t talk like that,” Legolas scolds.  “It puts an awful lot of pressure on me!” He grinned and clasped his father’s hand.  Though his grip was weak, he did not let go.

 

“Good,” Thranduil said.  “You will do well to remember it during your more reckless moments.”

 

“Yes, Adar,” Legolas said.  A great weight lifted from his shoulders, and feeling more carefree than he had in a while, Legolas drifted off to sleep.

 

****

 

The next few days were spent in an inferno, his father’s voice coming in and out of focus, cool hands on his feverish skin, pleading words in the cadence of prayer sweeping over him in hushed tones.  

 

Legolas felt something break, the heat draining away, coolness washing over him like the spray from a waterfall.  He woke in the middle of the night soaked in sweat, but clear-minded to find his father slumped over onto the mattress, asleep, his blond hair in an unruly cascade across the sheets.  

 

Legolas reached out and smoothed the hair out of his father’s face, saw the careworn lines in his countenance even in sleep.

 

****

 

When Legolas woke next he saw his father’s seat was empty.  

 

“You are awake,” a voice said, and Legolas looked up to see a dark haired elf coming around the end of the bed.

 

“Lord Elrond?” Legolas asked and blinked blearily as if to clear his vision.

 

“Yes, that’s right,” he replied.  “How are you feeling, Legolas?”

 

Legolas took stock of his body.  Weakness encumbered his limbs, but he no longer burned and his skin did not hurt anymore against the mere touch of fabric, which was a great relief to him.  “I feel much better,” Legolas said.

 

Lord Elrond smiled and replied, “That is good news indeed.  You gave us quite a scare.”

 

“Where is my adar?” Legolas asked, and then he sat up quickly, eyes widening with fear. “Has he fallen ill to the fever?”

 

“Calm yourself, Legolas,” Lord Elrond said coming to sit beside him.  “Your father is well.  There are matters he must take care of,” he explained.  “Half of Mirkwood is sick with this fever.  Thranduil is seeing to it that everyone who needs a healer is seen by one from Rivendell. He asked me to look after you in his absence.”

 

An attendant came with a tray of food and before he left, Elrond bid him to summon the king.  The food made an enormous difference, and Legolas felt more like himself than he had in a week.

 

Lord Elrond explained to Legolas that he had caught a mutated virus that most likely spread from the orcs to men that bartered with Lake Town and from the men of Lake Town to the elves.  Illness had not been present in elves in five thousand years, and so few who remain in Middle Earth still remember it.  

 

“A kind of biological warfare,” he explained with a grim look.  “Meant to wipe out and weaken our numbers.  But we are developing treatments for it.  Many who have fallen ill are recovering, like you.”

 

“But some have died,” Legolas said and Lord Elrond nodded silently.  It was a grave thing, for elves to die, especially to perish from disease.  It was not in their natural life cycle.  Though it was known they could be killed, it was not an expectation that their lives would end.  By all rights every elf should live to hear the call of the Undying Lands.

 

Neither wanted to dwell on this unhappy occurrence, so Legolas asked Lord Elrond what had been happening in Mirkwood while he had been ill.  

 

As Lord Elrond caught him up to speed, the carved wooden doors to the room burst open, and Thranduil rushed through, his face ashen.

 

“Elrond, is he-- has he--,” but then he took sight of Legolas sitting up, bright eyed and smiling and Thranduil staggered, relief robbing him of his balance.  

 

“Adar!” Legolas shouted, but was not able to get out more than that before Thranduil was at his side pulling Legolas up into his arms, crushing him to his chest.

 

“The attendant didn’t tell you Legolas was awake?” Lord Elrond asked.

 

“No,” Thranduil replied. “He said I was needed upstairs. And I thought-- _I feared_ \--."

 

“I’m fine,” Legolas said, feeling his father’s heart pounding wildly. When Thranduil pulled back from him, tears of relief streaked paths down his cheeks.  “Ada, it’s okay,” Legolas said, wiping the tears away with the bed sheet.

 

Thranduil laughed a little, cupping Legolas's face in his hands as he did, and then he kissed his cheek. Legolas scrunched his eyes shut and drawled, _"Ah-daaaa!_ " in embarrassment.  He was sure his ears were pink as Lord Elrond looked on with an amused smirk.

 

But truthfully Legolas was starved of his father's affection and Thranduil, it seemed, was determined to make up for lost time.

 

"Now that Legolas is on the mend, I should be treating my next patient," Elrond said.

 

"Yes, of course," Thranduil agreed, rising unsteadily from his perch on the bed. "I'll take you to--."

 

But Lord Elrond pushed Thranduil back down by the shoulders and said, "My next patient is you."

 

Thranduil frowned. "I am not sick."

 

"No, but you are exhausted," Lord Elrond replied. "When was the last time you rested?"

 

"I'll rest once the kingdom is well again," Thranduil challenged.

"The kingdom can wait an hour or two," Elrond said. He put his fingertips on Thranduil's forehead. "Your fëa is weary, Thranduil, it has been for some time.  Go lay down next to your son.  I will be back later to check on you."  And with that the Lord of Imaldris took his leave, closing the grand doors behind him.

 

“He’s _never_ wrong, that one,” Thranduil groused.  “So overbearing when he thinks he is right.”  Despite his crossness at being told what to do in his own kingdom, Thranduil did as Lord Elrond directed, lying down next to Legolas with a very unkingly groan.

 

A grin crept onto Legolas’s face as he watched him, recognizing his father more and the facade of the king less.  

 

Thranduil projected himself as aloof and fearsome, but Legolas now realized that these things were just features on a mask he wore to protect himself.  Emotions ran deep in Thranduil-- after the devoted way Thranduil looked after him during his illness, and the earnest confessions of his true feelings while Legolas laid in his sickbed, the young prince could not deny that Thranduil was profoundly sentimental.  

 

At times Legolas believed him uncaring with his stone cold demeanor as he received horrific news or gave exacting commands to his soldiers, or as frivolous due to his penchant for wine and beautiful gems.

 

But Legolas understood now.   _It’s all a pretense,_ he thought. _Time has taught him not to reveal himself, not even to me._

 

“Once you are well enough, Legolas,” Thranduil began, pulling him from his thoughts. “Perhaps you would accompany me on my next tour of the forest where I might see the archery skills I've heard so much about first hand?"

 

"You know about that?" Legolas asked surprised.  He and Thranduil had never talked about his aptitude for archery before.  As all cadets were, Legolas had been trained in a variety of weapons, but his progress with a bow and arrow had grown in the past several months to the point where he was already better than elves who had trained for years.

 

"Of course I do, iôn-nín," he said with an amused smirk. "I know everything important about my family."

 

A swell of pride rose in him and Legolas replied, “I would like that, Adar.”

 

Smiling softly at his son, Thranduil breathed a relieved sigh and closed his eyes, succumbing to exhaustion within a few minutes.

 

Legolas laid back down too, and though worn out from his battle with the fever, he felt absurdly pleased.  Resting his forehead against Thranduil’s shoulder, Legolas thought that maybe the gap between them was not so wide after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys still there? You didn't die from sugary-sweet fluffy angsty overload did you? I hope you liked it. If there's interest I might explore more ideas with these two. Please consider leaving a comment.
> 
> Please feel free to check out my [tumblr](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/) where I post all my Thranduil and Legolas art under the tag [Mirkwood Family.](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/tagged/mirkwood-family)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The title is borrowed from a Tim Rice lyric. 
> 
> If you are interested, sometimes I post gen Thranduil and Legolas art over on [my tumblr](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/) under the tag “Mirkwood Family”. 
> 
> Comments are cherished! :) Thanks everybody.


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